#napowrimo Day 1

Open the eye. Let its black dissolve in its own tail.
Begin by unseeing.

Open a window from the mouth. Cough. Exhume. Let yourself follow the ship of spit and settle on a leaf. Inhale the leaf’s body, its tidy, sinewy veins.

Admire the restlessness of palms, the ten great fingers always pointing to something. Pick them like straws and fold them in. Make an umbrella of your fist. Fill it with numbers.

Join the index to the first spot of vein. Examine the pulse. The pulse, a red beat. Water coursing through grasses. Sunlight skimping through trees.

Trees, hold the trees in your eyelash. Imagine the numerous twigs. Imagine them again.
Again. Again. Again.

You see a porcupine forest of forked toothpicks and triangular leaves. You are the rustling tree. You are naked. Your skin is breathing and hiccuping in this unknown purity.

You search for your fist. Your ten fingers. You cannot find them. All your numbers, they are lost. You are the minute tentacles of leaves, their spikes in mid-heaven.

You are overwhelmed. So much beauty, you spurt a lava of blood. You vanquish.

You are a trail of white dust. You have released each finger into the shadow, each spike, each leaf, each digit. You are utterly lonely.

But you no more know loneliness. Only your tongue remains. You click it, you flap it, you wave it, you lose it too, part by part by part.

You are gone. You are beaming.

You are a cube of space. Giant and small. Present and not. Ugly and beautiful. Fluid and air.

You are unnameable.
You are the very shadow of life.
A blue flame whimpers and glows. It is breath.

Your last asset. You do not hold on to it. It clings to you. You are breath, breath, breath.
Wide and joyous. Blue and violet.
You are a rhythm. The primal rhythm of life.

You are not memory. You are oblivion.
You are free. For you nothing is separate from the other and you know not of counting.

©️ Aakriti Kuntal

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